


Angel of Music

by Nellblazer



Category: Captain America (Movies), Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, Angst, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Grooming, Inappropriate Behavior, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera References, Love Triangles, Murder, Operas, POV Bucky Barnes, POV First Person, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Reader-Insert, Smut, dark bucky barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellblazer/pseuds/Nellblazer
Summary: Left alone after your father’s death, the Maximoffs take care of you, training you to be in the ballet in the Brooklyn Opera House. Something else lurks beneath its depths though, is it the angel of music your father had promised you?*Please do not replicate my work without my express permission*
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 60
Kudos: 113





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Grooming, manipulation, grieving
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors. Some lines/song lyrics taken from the play)
> 
> Happy reading
> 
> \- NB xx

Those days where I tended to my father's deathbed seemed so long ago now.

I held his frail hand before he passed as he promised me he would watch over me, even in death. An angel of music, he said, an angel would protect me. Then the hand that had played so many beautiful melodies in his lifetime fell limp.

Not even his famous violin could help pay to keep me in the slightly run down apartment and before long I was facing eviction notices. I had no job and no skills to my name. I would end up on the streets.

Mrs Maximoff across the hall heard me crying one day, and told me to live with her and her daughter Wanda, that she could train me in the arts, that I could have a career. I gladly accepted.

Before long, Wanda and I lived in the dormitory of the opera house where every morning, at six o'clock sharp, I awoke to do my ballet training. My feet cracked, my toes hurt but I danced on, even when blood seeped into my shoes. I wanted to be good at something, anything. How would I expect to honour my father's memories otherwise?

“You push yourself too hard,” Wanda frowns seeing the mottled pink and red ballet shoes at the end of the bed and me with a wash cloth. “You'll permanently injure yourself.”

“I'm just....I want to be the best.”

“I know what you want,” Wanda smiles conspiratorially. “You want a boy's attention, don't you? Is it the stage hand, Viz?”

“No,” I shake my head laughing. “He's far too wet behind the ears.”

“Good, more for me then,” Wanda brushes her hair back, pinning it up so it would retain the curls the next day.

“You are incorrigible!”

“This is why we're friends,” she taps me with the brush. “Put salve on those soles, won't you? I don't want you falling on me next rehearsal. Clint already stepped on my toes this morning. Fool can't even get his staging right.”

“He's the leading man, he gets to move wherever he likes.”

“I wish he would move off a tall building,” Wanda mutters bitterly. “I'll be back shortly.”

She leaves me on the bed as I continue to wash the blood away. It's not long before I'm humming softly and then humming turns into quiet singing and the quiet singing becomes louder. The aria for Elissa from Act Three of Hannibal. It had been lodged in my mind for the past few days since leading lady Natasha Romanoff had been practising it on the main stage.

There were still weeks to go before Hannibal would be ready for the public but Natasha had insisted on getting the solo perfect first.

“ _Remember me, once in a while please promise me you'll try_.”

“Why did you not tell me you could sing!” Wanda appears at the door.

“I didn't think I could,” I shyly look down. “I'd only ever sung for my father before.”

“You still miss him?”

“Every day,” I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “He promised me an angel of music would protect me. How silly that sounds now.”

“Of course it doesn't,” Wanda lies on her bed and holds my hand across the gap. “He's watching over you. You should sing to my mother sometime. She wants to find more chorus girls for our future shows.”

“I don't know if I'm any good.”

“From what I heard you are. Try it,” she squeezes my hand.

And I did. I sang for Mrs Maximoff and her face was stunned after I'd finished. All alone in the small chapel in the back of the Opera House, my last notes seemed to reverberate around me as I waited for her verdict.

“You should have told me, my little mouseling,” she cups my cheeks. “Your father's talents live on in you in a different way from instruments. We shall train your voice, every day, straight after rehearsals, no exceptions. You could reach understudy by the end of the year.”

“Do you think so?”

“I do,” she smiles kindly before noticing my eyes flick to the portrait of my father, still shrouded by candles. “Be alone with him for a while before bed. I'll allow it.”

“Thank you.”

She leaves me in the semi darkness as I light the candles, casting fiery glows on the stonework and shadows into the recesses. It calms me to be here. Sometimes I feel like I'm close to him in a way in this chapel.

“Sweet girl.”

I look around wildly for the source of a voice which is not there. I'm completely alone.

“Who's there?” I call.

“Your angel of music.”

I stiffen, thinking I am going mad until I hear the softest voice wending around me, gentle but full of power as it sings to me. I'm so entranced that I don't realise I'm sitting on the floor, contentedly listening.

“Angel?” I ask. “Did my father send you?”

“He did. I am to help you find your voice, teach you all I know. Mrs Maximoff shall not be your tutor. I shall.”

“Teach me,” I clasp my hands together. “Teach me everything.”

“So I shall, dear girl. Rest, rest and tomorrow your song shall take flight.”

I returned to the dormitory elated. Father hadn't lied to give me comfort. He really was watching over me. My angel of music had found me at last.

**

As rehearsals wore on, Natasha became more and more irate.

It was clear to those around her that she was tired of succeeding the limelight to Clint and desperately fought hard to gain the conductor's attention, to practice her solos. The result was an absolute cacophony of sound and I did not know where to begin in doing my slave girl dance.

On the unfortunate occasion that Clint had accidentally bumped into her during the elephant sequence, Natasha had screamed blue murder.

“He's trying to cripple me so I cannot sing!” she shrieks at Mr Lefevre, the opera house manager, who tries to keep his nerve.

“I am sure, Miss Romanoff, that is was an accident,” he sighs wearily.

“You all want me gone!” she points around the stage. “I may as well go then!”

“No, please, stop,” Mr Lefevre calls in a monotonous voice as she makes a grand attempt at storming off. “We cannot do this opera without you.”

It was a dance that had been done many times before and Natasha stopped before turning around and smiling girlishly.

“No, you cannot. From the aria, maestro!”

Even the conductor had to keep from rolling his eyes.

I shook my head, wandering to the back where glasses of water awaited us. As I was driving away the ardent thirst that the dancing had worked up, I felt a firm hand across my rear that made me cough water all over myself.

“Girls should wear these costumes more often,” Ben, the eldest of the stage hands sniggers to himself before moving up the rope to the gangway above.

I try to hold in the shocked sob in my throat at his boldness. I'd never experienced anything like it before. Crude words yes, but never physical touches.

I was almost sure when I rejoined Wanda, by the other dancers, that a growl sounded out from the shadows above me. I couldn't see anything though.

“Are you alright?” Wanda whispers to me.

“Yes, Ben just tried to grope me.”

“What a pig!” Wanda hisses and is promptly shushed by Mrs Maximoff who instructs everyone into their places.

As I twirl, dip and swoop in time with the other girls, there's an almighty crash behind me and a howl of agony. When I look around, Ben is on the ground, having apparently fallen off the gangway and his leg is twisted at an unnatural angle, the bone tenting his trousers.

“Rehearsals are over!” Lefevre announces. “Everyone back to your rooms!”

I don't scurry off to the dormitory but instead head for the small chapel. It's mercifully empty.

“My angel?” I call and only hear my own panting breaths echoing back. “My angel of music?”

After a minute's silence, I think he might not answer. I slowly stand up to leave before his calming voice envelops me once again.

“Dear girl.”

“My angel,” I smile brightly, staring at the ceiling. “You've come.”

“I am always here, in your heart and mind.”

“The stage hand....did you.....”

“I have sworn to protect you and protect you I did. Degenerate boy who thinks he can touch you. You are _mine_.”

“The punishment was severe-”

“-The punishment was appropriate,” I'm cut off. “Now, it is time for your lesson.”

**

Sometimes during the night, I can hear the angel.

There's a grate by my bedside where his voice floats to me, soothing me to sleep. Wanda is always too tired to notice but I find it comforting. My angel whispers such beautiful words, complimenting my voice, my beauty, my innocent spirit.

Once I caught glimpses of something white behind me in the backstage passages but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. I longed to know what form my angel took.

One night, before the final rehearsal, I went to my chapel, lighting a candle for my father and prayed.

“Angel of music, won't you please show yourself to me?” I beg.

“In time,” he responds like always.

“I need your guidance, I need your presence, please. I implore you, show yourself to me or am I just going mad and believing in things that aren't true?”

“You are not mad.”

Thick ribbon floats down from a gap in the ceiling and into my hands. It's plush black velvet, shimmering in the candlelight light as I turn it over.

“Put it over your eyes. I shall come to you. If you remove the covering, I will never come to you again. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” I wrap it around my eyes and face eagerly.

“Stand, my little doll.”

I get up, anticipating...I didn't know what I was anticipating but when I felt the air change around me, I grew excited. I would finally know my angel's touch. A hand trailed along my back and I could sense something come around in front of me, gentle fingers stroking down my cheek.

“I'm here,” his voice is clearer now, not muffled or distorted.

It's a voice that speaks of such caring and yet such melancholy. I want to reach out and hold him but I don't think he would permit it.

“Thank you,” I smile, happy tears streaming down into the velvet. “Thank you. You _are_ real. You are.”

“Of course I am,” he cups my jawline. “Your father sent me to watch over you and watch over you I shall. You have gifts, gifts which others will covet and beauty that will attract the wrong attention but I am here to show you the path.”

If I looked down, I could just make out through a small gap in the fabric, two hands. One that was uncovered, that was on my face and the other which had a leather glove. Curious.

“You should rest. Tomorrow will be a big day for you. I'll be there to oversee the final rehearsal.”

“Can we speak more in person after?”

A laugh, soft and warm, “Of course, such a sweet little thing.”

My hand is raised and lips brush against the back of it. There's a whirl of movement in the air and I suddenly have the impression I am alone again.

“Angel?” I speak to the silence.

“You may remove the fabric. Keep it as my token should you feel yourself doubting me again.”

“Thank you. I hope I will make you proud.”

“You do already, little doll. Go now before you are missed.”

As I exit the chapel, I crash into Mrs Maximoff who had been lingering outside the door. She seemed as white as a ghost.

“He is pleased with you then, to show himself?”

“I believe so.”

Mrs Maximoff knew of my angel and left me to be tutored by him but this was the first time she directly acknowledged his existence herself. She seemed afraid for me.

“Don't look so pale. His lessons have taught me much and I hope to use them wisely.”

“Go to bed,” the tone is clipped and I obey immediately, not wishing to anger her.

As I leave, I hear Mrs Maximoff speaking into the chapel and the very faint voice of my angel talking back. I could not hear the words but it was harried.

When I got to the dormitory, Wanda was already asleep, her leg sticking off the edge of the bed at an odd angle which I corrected so she'd be more comfortable before crawling under my sheets.

Just as I was drifting in between wakefulness and slumber, I heard my angel sing softly to me and I finally succumbed to sleep.


	2. The Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Opera House comes under new management and you see a face you've not seen in years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Grooming, manipulation,
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> \- NB xx

“Now now everybody!” Mr Lefevre interrupted the rehearsal. “I have some news!”

We all stopped, Wanda half leaning on me to stretch her leg out and shake away the stiffness. It took her a moment before she realised she could set it back down on the floor.

“As you know there have been rumours of my imminent retirement,” he carries on. “I can now tell you those are true and I would like to introduce you to the new managers of the Brooklyn Opera House, Mr Tony Stark and Mr Bruce Banner. They have amassed a vast fortune in the...uh....scientific business.”

“Engineering,” Tony says with a bright charming smile. “Mr Banner is more the scientist. I just build things. What a fascinating prop, by the way.”

He points to the elephant with its moving trunk mechanism operated by the youngest stage hand, Peter. He was the smallest person to be able to fit into the back of it.

“Thank you, sir!” Peter calls back.

“A production of Chalumeau's Hannibal,” Lefevre gestures to the scene. “And here is our leading soprano, Natasha Romanoff-”

“-Pleasure,” Natasha is full of smiles and batting eyelashes as she subtly adjusts her corset down a little.

“Ahem,” Clint coughs, quite obviously.

“And our leading tenor, Clint Barton.”

Clint does an ostentatious bow which Natasha rolls her eyes at. The both of them loved to upstage the other.

“May we present our patron in turn,” Tony waves someone through. “This is Steve Rogers, heir of the Rogers' empire.”

My head snaps up as I see a face I've not seen in years. I would recognise those bright blue eyes anywhere, I'd spent many a summer looking into them.

“Isn't that...” Wanda trails off. I'd told her about him late one night.

My childhood sweetheart.

“It is. It's my Stevie,” I can't help but smile. “He probably won't remember me though. It was so long ago.”

“I didn't know he was rich. Why did you not get engaged?”

“He wasn't rich then,” I study the way the light catches his golden brown hair and the beaming smile has has for everyone. “To me he was just Steve. We played together in the alleyways, the parks....such childish mischief.”

But the mischief had turned to something more romantic when I hit my teenage years and we'd shared a kiss in Central Park under the moonlight before Steve had had to go with his mother to England and I never saw him again after that.

“I'm so glad to lend my patronage to this fine establishment and I look forward to seeing Hannibal tomorrow. Until then, I shall bid you farewell,” Steve says in that voice I've missed so much without knowing.

I hope when he strides by me that there will be some recognition but there's nothing as he moves to the door. Wanda squeezes my arm in support, noticing my disappointed face.

“I have something for you, good sirs,” Mrs Maximoff hands over a letter. “It is from the Opera Ghost. He bids you welcome and trusts the old arrangement will still stand. He asks for his usual $2000 salary a month and that box five is to be kept empty for his viewing pleasure.”

“$2000?!” Tony blinks. “That's absurd!”

“Perhaps you can afford more with Mr Rogers as your patron,” Mrs Maximoff shrugs.

“I would pay it, sirs,” Joseph, the technician calls from the rafters. “Bad things happen if the Phantom is not paid.”

“Load of superstitious nonsense,” Tony mutters.

“We can afford it, Tony. It's worth the piece of mind to not lose the entire cast. Plus opera is a huge money spinner......ahem, perhaps a song, Miss Romanoff?” Bruce asks. “So we can see the talent we have in our new acquisition?”

“There's the aria from Act Three?” Lefevre catches the attention of the conductor.

“I _would_ sing but _somebody_ hasn't finished my costume yet!” Natasha glares at the seamstress in the wings who cowers under her withering gaze.

“No matter, we just want to hear you!” Tony encourages her.

“Well, if my managers command it,” she simpers before her face falls into something more determined and she strides to her mark, pushing me out of the way. “Off, little mouse. You do not belong here.”

I bit down my retort, knowing it was not my place to be scathing to the star attraction. My shoulder was bruising quickly though from her vicious shove.

As she began singing, I tried not to glare but her obnoxious attitude made it difficult. Even when she sang she would cast glances around the actors to smirk at them.

Just as she was about to hit the high note, my vision of her was obscured by a backdrop falling loose from the rafters, swallowing her in the canvas. She shrieks loudly as everyone tries to extract her and she emerges with her hat askew and her stage make up smudged.

“It's just a loose tarp, these things happen,” Tony pulls her to her feet. “No harm done.”

“These things happen? They happen a lot in this Opera house!” she looks livid. “And did Lefevre stop them from happening? No! I'm out of here. I'm done. I'm not spending another second in this cursed building!”

“Is she really going?” Bruce looks utterly shocked as she storms out with Clint laughing his head off.

“I suggest you start grovelling,” Lefevre sighs.

“Why are you retiring again?” Tony asks.

“My health. Gentleman. Good luck.”

Lefevre almost runs out of the building.

“Oh my god, Tony. What are we going to do? The play is _tomorrow_ and there's a full house!”

“Is there an understudy?! Tony looks around wildly.

“There's no understudy,” Clint gets ahold of himself before shaking his head. “Amateurs.”

Mrs Maximoff pushes me gently into the spotlight, “She could sing it.”

“What, a dancer?” Tony appraises me, his eyes greedily wandering over my slave costume, or lack thereof. “Well I guess we have nothing to lose by trying. Go on then, my dear. Try the aria.”

All eyes of the cast upon me, I was nervous, barely powerful as I began the first lines and I could hear the muttered whispering behind me of the new managers but I thought of my angel, somewhere in the theatre who was silently urging me on and I started belting out the notes.

The atmosphere behind me changed, the mutterings grew more excited. It didn't matter though, everything just melted away and there was just the music and I, harmonising in tandem.

When I had finished, I heard nothing but the voice of my angel from beneath my feet, applauding and telling me his praises. Then Mrs Maximoff's hand was on my back.

“You did very well,” she whispers to me. “He'll be pleased.”

“I think we've found our leading lady!” Tony announces.

**

Now was the moment I had worked so hard for. I was in front of an audience of hundreds, lights twinkling all around me and reflecting off the jewels in my dress. I glittered in errant rainbows as I sang to the crowd.

“ _Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons, so do we, but please promise me that sometimes you will think of me!_ ”

People were giving me a standing ovation. Me! I couldn't believe it and my smile broke out as flowers were thrown onto the stage. I took my bow, moving to the wings, glowing with happiness.

My part in the play was now over and I went to the diva's dressing room but I was intercepted by a blur that blocked the door.

“It _is_ you! My little dove!”

Steve is before me, wild eyed in pure excitement, tears brimming.

“Stevie!”

“Yes!” he scoops me up in his arms, twirling me around so my dress fans out in swathes behind me. “You remember me!”

“How could I ever forget you?”

“I've dreamt of that night in Prospect Park for so long. I didn't think you would be here any longer. Your father....”

“I miss him, Steve.”

“He was a good man. I miss him too. But I've found you now. I'm here. I will look after you.”

He takes both my hands, stroking them with his fingers, smiling so brightly at me. I feel like that same young girl I once was.

“And if you'll permit me, let us continue this conversation in your room. I want to know everything that's happened since I left. Spare no detail.”

“I...I can't.”

His face falters and he looks upset, “Oh...perhaps you have some suitor now. I do not wish to intrude. Forgive me.”

“No!” I blurt out. “No I don't. It's just, my tutor is very strict. I have a matinee performance tomorrow and he wants me to rest.”

“I understand,” Steve relaxes. “Is it wrong to say I'm relieved? The thought of losing you when I've just found you again.....I'm getting ahead of myself, I apologise. I'm just overjoyed. Can I call on you in the morning? Even it's just for a moment?”

“Yes, yes you can,” I laugh at his enthusiasm.

He kisses me on my cheek and I can tell he would like to turn his head just a fraction more but he restrains himself. It's endearing and it reminds me of that simpler time in my life.

“Until then. I shall barely sleep. I shall dream of you and your beautiful performance.”

He keeps looking over his shoulder as he goes back to the main reception as if he cannot bear to tear his eyes away. Finally, he disappears around the corridor leaving me alone.

I'm elated, grinning from ear to ear as I enter my dressing room, closing the door and leaning back against it sighing. The room is filled with flowers and expensive chocolates which only lighten my mood further. I had truly discovered my happiness again.

I took the heavy gown off, changing into my nightdress and unpinning my hair, sampling the chocolates as I did so. I'd never tasted anything like it before.

Just as I'm brushing the tangles out, a voice calls to me.

“Brava, brava, bravissima my little doll.”

“My angel,” I stand up, looking around for him, thrilled at his praises.

“But you are distracted by that.... _boy_ and his fanciful words. I can see his compliments give you that glow of infatuation but he is only riding on the coat tails of your triumph. He did not see you in the rehearsal at all but once you were on the stage..... Do not let his flighty affections detract from the achievements of tonight and your lessons. He is a fool.”

My heart drops. He was right, my angel was right. Steve _hadn't_ recognised me until I was somebody to notice. I had disappointed my tutor gravely and I could hear the note of derision and anger in his tone.

“Forgive me,” I implore to the air. “I was weak. I have known Steve most of my life and I was excited to see him again.”

“He left for a reason. He left you alone. Why should you allow him in your life again when he gave no explanation of his absence and only acquired obscene wealth to show for it? I am your angel, sweet girl. I know a man's heart and I am here to protect you from it. I uphold your father's wishes.”

“Forgive me,” I collapse on the floor, prostrating myself. “I bow to your wisdom and ask for your forgiveness.”

Of course he was right. He had never lied to me or led me astray before.

“Such flattery,” a pleasant chuckle. “Perhaps it is time you saw me fully, that you realise it is me and only me who holds your interests at heart, that _protects_ your heart. Do you think you've earned that?”

“Only if you believe I have. I sang for you, tonight.”

“And such an enchanting song it was. A proper dedication to your guardian. Look at the mirror, little doll.”

When my head snapped up, instead of seeing my own reflection on the floor, it misted, melted until there was a man standing there. He was tall, broad but with an air of litheness, impeccably dressed, beautifully dressed. Shadows were cast on his face but I could see piercing light blue eyes, one side boring through a mask that was moulded to him in purest white that contrasted with his long dark swept back hair and neat beard.

The expression though, the expression drew me in. He was smiling and it was kindly, it was safe. I could trust him completely, it said.

He held out his hand for me and unconsciously I rose to my feet, blindly walking towards him. What would even happen? Would I crash into the mirror? Would he step through?

I didn't care though. For so long I'd wanted to see my angel and he was here, at last. I kept walking of my feet's own accord.

“Come to your angel,” he sings softly.

I barely register the knocking at the door and Steve's voice.

“I'm sorry I couldn't wait. I just have to see you I- who's in there? Whose is that voice?!”

“Come to your angel of music.”

“Little dove! Open the door!”

I'm almost at the mirror's surface, completely entranced as his melody surrounds me, ensnares me. I can think of nothing else.

“Come to your angel of music.”

“LITTLE DOVE!”


	3. Music of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You follow your angel deep down below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Grooming, manipulation, abuse, smut
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> \- NB xx

I expected my hand to meet the cool surface of the mirror but it sank through and met with my angel's. His smile was entrancing as he pulled me through into a corridor with dimly lit candelabra.

I looked behind me, only seeing my dressing room as if staring through a window and Steve bursting in, looking puzzled and frightened, searching for me.

“Don't glance to your past,” my angel's fingers turn my chin back. “Walk to your future.”

He leads me to a staircase which goes down and down into infinite darkness. Our only light is the torch he carries.

He sings to me whilst he guides me, a song of mystery and excitement I had never heard before but I hung upon every word. I barely noticed when we had reached the bottom and I cast my eyes up, seeing nothing but black above me.

“Where are you taking me, angel?” I whisper, the sound magnified on the cold stone around us.

“I am bringing you to where my music begins, the music I bring to life through you. You are my voice to the world.”

He stops, whirling around and I see blue, darkened in shadow gazing at me adoringly, “From the moment I first heard you sing, sweet girl, I knew you were meant to serve me and the melodies I create.”

“Show me.”

“Gladly.”

There was a lake ahead, almost ghastly green and spectral in the bioluminescent glow of the plantlife around. He bid me to get into a waiting boat and punted us along, like we were lovers in some Venician riverway. I, in turn, was fascinated to see this hidden labyrinth underground and watched our progress with eager eyes.

We hit upon a gate which lifted without command and suddenly there were furnishings, candles rising out of the water and lighting and instruments around. Did my angel live here?

“Come, my dear,” he hops elegantly out of the boat and pulls me out.

I stumble on the lip of the dock and fall into his arms. There's a moment where I forget Steve completely, fixed only upon my angel's face which is half hidden from me. Even hidden, all I see is his beauty.

“For a dancer, your inelegance is endearing sometimes,” he chuckles before leading me to the organ in the middle of the lair. “I have waited so long for this moment. Do you trust me? Do you trust your angel?”

“An angel that lives in such shadow?” I look at the murkiness of the entrance to his home.

“Do you not think there should be an angel of night? That I should not compose such music of said night? Angels do not only exist in brightness. We are in all facets.”

“Of course, I'm being silly, forgive me,” I bow my head.

“My sweet little doll,” he tips my chin up. “There is nothing to forgive. You are young after all and I am here to teach you. Familiarise yourself with my home, it will be yours if you wish it. Here we could write such masterpieces that would have those above weeping with joy or sadness.”

It sounded perfect. All I ever wanted was to carry on my father's legacy and now I could. I would sing my angel's words of night and shadow forever more.

I explore, examining his possessions, reading the sheet music with his looping scribbles and marvelling at his talent. When I come across a covered doorway, I linger on the curtain for a moment before pulling it back, only to met with a replica of myself.

“What is this?” I stagger, nearly falling into the lake behind me.

“Only a stage prop,” he answers curtly.

“It's a wedding dress,” I whisper, not dragging my eyes away from the bright ivory material and the draping lace veil.

“An idea for a future production, nothing more.”

“It's so lifelike.”

“I have a gift,” he takes my hand pulling me away and pushing the curtain back into place. “Let me sing to you.”

My unease is quickly replaced by contentment as he directs me away and begins dancing with me gently as he sings. It is easy to get lost in him, to drown myself in his presence and when I look up into his face, I barely realise we are inches apart until he is kissing me.

It's as if everything slots into place in that moment.

Father had sent an angel to watch over me...and also to love me.

“Give yourself to me. Body, soul and heart,” he whispers. “Surrender yourself.”

“But-”

“-No doubts, no backwards glances. Either you accept me or deny me but do not keep me waiting.”

I could tell by the trembling of his body against mine that he was restraining himself. I had the briefest notion of a predator coiled to strike from the hungry look in his eyes.

“You have protected me, trained me....are you to train me in the art of being a woman also, my angel?”

“Such innocence,” he strokes my cheek. “I will show you things you have never dreamed of before. Pull sounds and melodies from you that no other man will.”

I thought of Steve, searching for me above and thought of my angel's words. He had only become interested when I was the leading lady. I needed to be loved for who I was not who I could become.

“Teach me.”

The dam broke as he kissed me with more fervour. My nightgown was pulled open, gently pushed off my shoulders to pool on the floor, leaving me in nothing but my shift.

“Bellissima,” he praises, before divesting me of any scrap of clothing I could have. “A work of art.”

He leads me to the bed, bidding me to lie down and I patiently wait for him. He does not undress himself, merely hovering over me, wisps of hair escaping the ribbon tying the rest.

“Think no more of other men, there is only this,” he whispers before moving down my body in between my legs.

I wonder what he means to do until that mouth which produces such haunting melodies meets with my womanhood and I mewl my appreciation in long moans. He was right, I had never made such sounds before.

Something was cresting, the wave was building and under the ministrations of his tongue, pleasure unlike anything I'd experienced in my life crashed through me. My voice hung in the air, strangled by the sensations flooding me until I felt nothing but bliss.

“And now, will you accept me, my sweet doll who tastes of pure honey and promise?” he removes his trousers.

Fogged by lust, I nodded eagerly. I wanted to know everything. My angel teaches me such wonderful things.

“Then be mine, forever more.”

There is pain at first but it subsides as he joins with me and we become one. I feel myself turning into this wanton creature, urging him on, meeting his hips with mine as we move together. He whispers such gentle declarations of love to me and I'm swept away.

I was maiden no longer but I did not regret it. It was only right that my angel be the first to enjoy me, to guide me on the path to womanhood.

He stills within me, touching his forehead to mine as he reaches his end. It's only when I feel something wet on my cheeks that I realise he's crying above me but his smile is so wide and charming that it can only be tears of happiness.

“Finally, finally you are mine,” he half laughs before moving out of me but still hovering over me.

He kisses me softly and my hands move to his face.

I do not know what compelled me to do what I did but perhaps it was the desire to see all of him, to have nothing hidden from me. I had waited so long for him to show himself, after all.

I removed his mask.

He recoiled from me immediately, using his hand to hide his face as he leapt to his feet.

“DAMN YOU!” he roars, startling me. “YOU LITTLE PRYING PANDORA! IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED TO SEE?!”

He drops his hand and I'm bewildered. I see nothing but a handsome face, contorted with rage. There are no deformities, no blemishes. My angel was astonishingly attractive.

“Take your fill of the monster they call the Phantom!” he snarls, chasing me off the bed until I'm backing away, almost tripping on the cold stone. “You little viper!”

He grabs hold of my shoulders, shaking me violently before throwing me onto the ground where I sprawl haphazardly. I try to fend him off but he hits me across the face, my cheek burning with the impact.

“Damn you! Curse you!”

He stalks away, raking his hands through his hair, freeing it from its confines where it spills around his face. I could do nothing but stare, paralysed by fear.

“Such a repulsive face,” he mutters to himself. “A loathsome gargoyle, an abhorrent carcass, a beast. I yearn for beauty, I yearn for heaven but I am thrown to this hell, never knowing love....not even my own mother's. Grotesque she called me, monstrous. You will learn, you will see the man behind the monster in time. Your fear will turn to love. I forgive you, little doll but there will not be a second chance.”

“There is nothing wrong with you,” I stagger to my feet. “Women would gladly fall at your feet, declare themselves for you. You are not repulsive.”

“Soporific words,” he dismisses me. “Designed to flatter. I know what I am. Half formed.”

“You are beautiful, angel,” I say more firmly. “But your rage is not.”

“Beautiful, am I?” he avoids looking directly into the nearby mirror. “Will you still think me beautiful when I show you what I truly am?”

He rips his shirt open and, before I can fully process, detaches his arm.

I fainted from the shock.

**

Of course, you would faint at the sight of him. He knew you would.

You were only being stubbornly bold in telling him he held any kind of beauty at all. Looking directly into the mirror, he saw the disfigured face staring back and wondered how anyone could say he was anything otherwise.

Perhaps you only saw the best in him and there was a gallant innocence in that but he had already proved he was incapable of controlling his emotions around you. He'd frightened you, he'd hurt you so soon after taking your maidenhood.

What a sickening creature he was.

He deserved to remain underground. He was not meant for the world above.

He looked down at your unconscious form and picked you up, redressing you on the bed, cleaning you with reverence. His girl, his doll, his greatest love. He would never let you go, you were his and his alone but....

You needed to go back. Your absence would cost you more leading roles and he could not have your song be dampened by this shadowed domain he lived in.

“I shall get you home,” he speaks to your still body. “Those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you.”

He takes you in the boat across the lake, carries you up the endless stairs and into a passageway leading to the dormitory rooms. Laying you on the bed, he gives you one last kiss before leaving your side.

Daylight was already streaming in. It must be around noon.

“Do not harm her,” comes a female voice. “She does not belong where you reign.”

He turns to see Mrs Maximoff, hovering at the doorway.

“She belongs with _me_ and therefore in my kingdom,” he growls back. “You knew what you had agreed to when her lessons first began.”

“This is turning to madness, James-”

“-Do not call me that name,” he hisses. “And love is not madness. It is reason and it is truth. I will marry her and she will sing for me for eternity. If you get in my way, you know what will happen.”

“Would you kill me? After everything I have done for you?”

“Without hesitation and your daughter too. Nothing can keep me from my beloved. Am I understood?”

The woman quakes a little with fear but holds her nerve, “Yes.”

“Then come with me. I had some important letters for you to distribute. There will be some changes in the running of my theatre.”


	4. Prima Donna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discord strikes the Opera House as the Phantom leaves his notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> \- NB xx

Steve spent hours searching for you desperately.

When he had broken into the dressing room, you were nowhere to be found. He had heard your voice just mere moments before though. He didn't understand it.

Nobody else had seen you either.

How could he lose you when he'd just been reunited with you? He'd dreamt of you for years when he'd been away, always promising himself he would find you when he returned. His little dove with the sweet voice and charming stories, with wildflowers in your hair and always a dazzling smile for him.

When he had come home to Brooklyn, he'd found the old apartment your father used to have empty, your father dead and nobody knew where you had gone.

Seeing you on that stage....it was magical, like fate had brought you back together. Now it had taken you away just as quickly.

He fell asleep sometime as the sun was starting to crest, his clothes wrinkling as he slept fitfully.

When he awoke, there was a letter by the bed, sealed with wax bearing the symbol of a skull. He opened it quickly.

_Do not fear for her,_

_The Angel of Music has her under his wing_

_Make no attempt to see her again._

  * _OG_




The angel of music? Your father had always used to joke that his talent came from an angel of music. What was going on though? Who had sent this note and why did they not want him near you?

He sprang up, rushing into the reception area where Tony and Bruce were having heated discussions.

“Did you send this?!” he brandishes the note.

“Don't look at us,” Tony holds up his own.

“What's all this nonsense?” Bruce has one too.

“I have a note telling me not to look for her. Did you not write it?”

“Of course not,” they both say in tandem.

“If you didn't write it, who did?”

“All of ours are signed O.G. We think it's the Opera Ghost.”

“Now who's spouting nonsense?” Steve frowns. “There is no such thing.”

“WHERE IS HE?!” a shriek from the doorway and Natasha Romanoff descends upon Steve, smacking him with her fur scarf. “You sent me this letter! It is a most foul piece of writing!”

“I did no such thing. What am I meant to have sent?” Steve fends her off before grabbing the note and reading aloud. “Your days at the Brooklyn Opera house are numbered. My darling chorus girl will now take the leading soprano role. Do not attempt to take her place or a great misfortune will befall you.”

“Of course you sent this!” Natasha cries. “You were her lover, no? Childhood sweethearts? Gossip travels fast, Mr Rogers. This is all a plot to help your precious little ingénue!”

“I didn't send it!” Steve protests. “I swear it!”

“Excuse me, good sirs. She has returned to us,” Mrs Maximoff interrupts.

“Is she alright?” Steve runs down the steps towards her.

“She is but she will need rest.”

“Will she sing tonight?” Tony asks. “We still have one production of Hannibal left.”

“I have a note.”

The way Mrs Maximoff said it as she handed it over sounded weary. There was something there that she was not telling everybody, a truth hidden beneath the surface.

Steve reads again aloud, “My little doll has returned to you and I am anxious her career should progress. I note the next play should be _Il Muto_ and I want my girl in the role of the Countess with Natasha as the pageboy. You see, the role of the Countess calls for charm and appeal, whereas the role of the pageboy is silent which makes my casting, in a word, ideal.”

Natasha audibly gasps in offence before Steve carries on.

“I will watch the performance from my usual seat in Box Five. If my instructions are not carried out, therein will lie a disaster more terrible than you can imagine. Your faithful servant, O.G.”

“You know, I'm rather sick of being ordered around,” Tony shakes his head. “How about you Bruce?”

“Definitely,” Bruce nods. “What will he do, really? Natasha will be playing the Countess. Our young chorus girl will be the pageboy and there will be no more said about it.”

“This is not wise,” Mrs Maximoff warns.

“Oh poppycock,” Tony snorts. “This is all myths and legends anyway. Silly superstitions. Our decision is final. Will you sing for us, Miss Romanoff?”

“Well....I suppose,” Natasha preens. “But I want a bigger dressing room.”

“Of course,” Bruce nods. “Anything for you. Damn his instructions and damn his salary.”

The three walk off to discuss rehearsals as Steve is left with Mrs Maximoff. An uneasy feeling grips him. This was a bad idea. He didn't believe in a phantom of the opera but ignoring these words was a grave mistake.

“Mrs Maximoff, will she see me?”

“She will see no one right now. Wait until tomorrow. She needs the rest....and, Mr Rogers?”

“Yes?”

“She will need you more than she realises when she is ready.”

The cryptic words left him feeling ill and he resolved to sneak to you anyway. Something was very wrong in this Opera House.

**

I awoke with bright sunlight streaming across my face.

I had dreamt of such a dark world, a world where my angel lived bound in the torment of his imagined hideousness. It was just that though, surely? A dream?

When I moved and felt the ache between my legs, pulled back the covers and saw blood coating the sheets between my thighs, I knew it wasn't.

I really _had_ been in that shadowed kingdom. I _had_ seen my angel cry in horror as I had unmasked him and felt the stinging blow of his rage. I had also been loved by him.

The petals covering my eyes to the truth had fallen away and I was left with the notion that perhaps this was no angel at all. Maybe this was the phantom, a covetous tortured phantom and I had made a horrible mistake.

What had I done?

I had let a stranger take me away, listened to honeyed words and song and not stopped to imagine it could be false. An angel would never hurt me, scream at me.....

I quickly dragged the sheets off, putting them on another girl's bed before washing near the basin and dressing in my underclothes for the performance. I had missed the matinee but there was still the evening...if they let me sing that is.

A knock at the door breaks me out of my anguish.

“Little dove. Will you let me in?”

Steve. Now my guilt was magnified ten fold. What if my angel, this phantom had lied to me about Steve and I had ruined my chance at reconciliation?

“Come in. I'm decent.”

I don't expect him to rush over, hugging me tightly and kissing my forehead. I melt into the touch, desperate for comfort.

“I was so worried,” he whispers into my hair. “So so worried. I searched for you all night. Where were you?”

“The angel of music had me.”

“I don't understand.”

“I don't either. Oh Steve...”

I start crying and he doesn't question me any more, he merely holds me, humming softly the tunes we used to sing so long ago.

“I have missed you,” I whisper, my voice choked from tears.

“I've missed you too. More than you know.”

“You really do care? It's not just because I was the lead in the play?”

“Of course not. How could you say that to me?” he pulls back, looking me squarely in the eyes. “I've loved you for years, little dove. Everyday apart from you was fraught with misery and worry that you would find someone else. That I'd miss my chance. Please believe me. I even kept that embroidered handkerchief you made me all this time. Here, see.”

He takes it out of his waistcoat, the dingy cloth with the bluebell motif I had made him. It was well worn but obviously loved.

“Steve, I'm sorry I doubted you. I've done something terrible-”

But before I can confess, Mrs Maximoff is at the door and is chasing out Steve.

“I told you, she needed rest,” she frowns.

“I couldn't stay away from her.”

“Go,” Steve is swatted out.

Mrs Maximoff turns to me, “You are playing a dangerous game, my child. You know what he will do if he sees Steve near you. Remember Ben?”

“He won't ever let me go, will he? The angel?”

She sighs, “No. Off with you now. He will be waiting to hear the production.”

I didn't want to do this any more but I had an obligation. This was the first time I had wanted to not sing in my life.

**

The evening performance went well enough. My angel did not see me that night.

_**_

Word of those notes from the Phantom by now had spread far and wide in the theatre.

Hushed superstitious mutterings had broken out amongst the cast that something terrible would befoul the performance of Il Muto considering Tony and Bruce had gone against the Opera Ghost's wishes. Thankfully nothing had happened in rehearsals so far.

I still attended my chapel lessons but my angel was curt with me, driving me harder than ever and he made me practise the Countess' songs in case my managers changed their minds. I also still saw Steve in secret.

We hid in an inn nearby the Opera House. Our meetings were brief, I was still terrified of what my angel might do, but it rekindled those long buried feelings for Steve. I remembered why I'd fallen in love with him all those years ago. I couldn't stay away.

The pull between my two worlds was tight and unyielding and I felt as if I were two people, that young girl in Prospect Park and the woman in the underground lair.

That was the crux of my struggle, I still fondly dreamt of the moments before my angel showed his true colours, when it was so simple to become his.

I hated the duality of it.

At last, Il Muto was ready to be performed. Natasha had been a nightmare to work directly with but we were ready.

On opening night, I pranced around in my britches and socks, pretending to be the secret lover. Our comedy was resonating well and the audience laughed in the right places.

When I bent behind the fan to give Natasha 'a kiss', she almost headbutted me on purpose but I managed to pull away in time. I didn't let my anger show on my face but merely strutted around, doing my silent part as she sang about her cuckolded husband.

Just as she reached the crescendo, a booming voice from high up in the opera house sounded.

“DID I NOT INSTRUCT THAT BOX FIVE WAS TO BE KEPT EMPTY!”

I looked to box five, seeing Tony and Bruce sat there looking stunned.

“Here's here. The phantom,” I look up for him.

“Your part is silent, little toad,” Natasha hisses before moving to the wings to get her throat spray, liberally applying it.

“Perhaps madam, it is _you_ who are the toad,” the voice is much softer, closer to me.

I try to keep my mind on the play as Natasha starts singing again, trying to bring the audience's attention back.

“ _Serafimo, away with this pretence, you cannot speak but kiss me in my_ -WURGHHHHH”

Everybody fell silent.

I just stared at Natasha who turned bright pink, even under the pound of white make up. I had never heard her make that sound before. It was almost like a croaking frog.

The conductor just starts again as Natasha nervously looks around before singing. Her voice was unsure.

“ _Poor fool he makes me laugh. Ha ha ha ha ha. Ha ha-_ WURGHHHH! NRGHHHHH!”

Laughter from the crowd but also that deep charming chuckle I'd known these past months. My angel was extremely amused.

“BEHOLD! SHE'S SINGING TO BRING DOWN THE CHANDELIER!” he yells.

“Excuse me!” Tony calls from box five. “Apologies, our apologies! The play with continue with our ladies switched.”

Bruce exits the box and comes onto the stage, wringing his hands nervously, “In the mean time, whilst we make this change, we would like to give you the ballet from Act 3.”

“The ballet?!” the conductor blinks in complete alarm.

“Yes! Yes! The ballet if you please!” Bruce almost shouts in his flusteredness before pushing me off stage to get dressed. I looked behind to see him almost knock into one of the dancers in his delirious rush to get back to the box.

I was changing costumes in the wings. Hurriedly shoved into another corset, my breathing was restricted and I glanced up seeing Joseph looking down at me in faint amusement from the rafter.

“Look elsewhere, you pig!” Wanda hisses. “Do they hire any men who _aren't_ perverts?”

“If she's the phantom's then that means she's fair game,” Joseph chuckles. “Can't imagine a ghost being particular.”

“Hold your tongue!” Mrs Maximoff waves her finger. “All day I have had to put up with you scaring my girls with stories of this murderous spectre.”

“It's just some fun,” he shrugs.

“You will find too late that prudent silence is wise. He does not like to be insulted.”

“Oh boohoo. Will he cry? Will he weep tears from his lidless eyes? Perhaps he intends to frighten me to death with his horrific appearance.”

“Enough!”

Joseph laughs, walking off to sort out the lighting for the ballet.

“He will have heard that,” I say to Mrs Maximoff.

“No doubt but we must carry on as if we aren't anticipating anything,” she murmurs back. “Wanda, keep away from underneath the gangway just in case.”

“You don't really think he'll appear, do you?” Wanda is wide eyed.

“Yes, yes I do,” I hold her hands. “Be careful and be safe.”

I just hoped nothing too terrible would occur.

When the audience started screaming, I looked around to see Joseph hanging there, suspended in mid-air by a noose, his face puffy and red, his eyes staring at nothing.

He was dead.

I can't remember what I did, transfixed by the still twitching corpse that I'd spoken to only moments ago.

Pinned to his chest was a note.

_'My salary is due.'_

I fled.


	5. All I Ask Of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You run away from the performance of Il Muto and Steve follows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, peril
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> \- NB xx

“Where are you going?!” Steve catches up to me as I throw a cloak over the costume.

“The roof. I can't stand this any longer, Steve.”

“You have to go back!” he tries to pull my arm but I shake him away, steadfastly moving to the roof.

“I can't go back there. _You_ can't go back there. He'll kill you. He's already proven that murder isn't beneath him,” I babble.

“Who?! Who are we talking about?!”

“The Phantom of the Opera.”

“There's no such thing!”

“YES THERE IS!” I'm almost hysterical. “He's watching me, always watching.”

I burst out into the cold winter air, feeling it steal my breath as the moonlight softly illuminates the rooftop. I can see most of Brooklyn from here in glittering lights. How I wished I was among them rather than here.

“No there isn't! He doesn't exist!” Steve takes my shoulders.

“I've been to his lair, such a bleak world of darkness, an unending night,” my horrified expression arrests his gaze. “And I have seen him for the monster he is and yet......”

“And yet what?” Steve presses.

“And yet he is the only one to believe in my voice, to hone it, to teach me such music that I had never thought I would be capable of replicating. I also feel pity for him, alone there, always alone.”

“He's just a voice in the rafters, a bad dream,” Steve shushes me, holding me to him. “Do not feel pity for a nightmare. Come on now, no more talk of darkness. Nothing will harm you when I'm here. Do you trust that?”

“I don't know,” I whisper, terrified beyond belief.

“Please trust in me,” he sways with me on the spot. “I love you, I would do anything to keep you safe. If have to fend off phantoms and ghosts and angels then so be it. I love you, little dove. Just...love me back, that's all I ask of you.”

And suddenly the words felt right, they burst forth from my chest, “I love you too, Steve.”

“Then that's all that matters,” he smiles warmly.

His kiss is different to my angel's. It's familiar, homely and comforting. It speaks of a time when tragedy didn't follow me like some spectre at the feast.

“I will keep you safe, I swear it,” he whispers as he breaks away. “Do you feel calmer now?”

“Yes, thank you. I must go back now. They will wonder where I am.”

“I shall fetch the horses and we will leave this place after the performance. It will just be the two of us.”

“I would like that very much,” I smile.

All frightening thought went out of my head, my fear subsided because my Stevie was here and he loved me. The bubble of happiness kept me shrouded away from terror as I left with him to return to the stage.

“Where were you?!” Wanda chides me as I come back.

“Is the play still going ahead?” I ask, thankful Joseph's body had been removed.

“Yes!” she says in a panic, jamming the pompous wig on my head. “GO!”

I rush out to join my fellow cast members, dressed now as the Countess where Natasha was now the pageboy.

Just as I reached the apex of the stage, a voice screams from the ceiling.

“NO! BETRAYAL!”

I was foolish to think he wouldn't find me on that roof, see me with Steve, see the treacherous kiss. I was a fool.

The chandelier bulbs began popping in great showering sparks. I could only gaze in horror as the lights flickered and there was a great groan before the chandelier started to come away from its bracket, swinging in an arc that made the crystals rattle. The audience scattered, terrified and I ran for my life, away from the oncoming glittering danger and fell into Steve's arms who twirled me around as the chandelier exploded into shards of glass that rained down upon everyone in range. He protected my body, wincing as crystals cut across the back of his neck.

“Are you alright?!” he cries.

“It was him. He's angry, he's so angry,” I look up at the ceiling but I cannot see my former angel. “We need to run.”

For once, he did not protest and we flew outside to the waiting carriage, desperately flinging ourselves in as screaming customers scattered out of the Opera House doors.

“GO!” Steve yells to the driver who spurs the horses on and we start moving.

I glance back towards the theatre and spot the figure lurking near the statues over the Opera House entrance. Even from this distance I could tell my angel's expression.

Betrayed, upset....and murderous.

**

How blind he had been to this peacocking suitor and his effect on you.

James knew at once when Steve had grabbed you before your rooftop meeting that there was more unsaid in that gesture than he'd been privy to.

Of course he wasn't ignorant and he knew you'd been meeting in secret but part of him told himself that this was punishment for losing his temper with you. He didn't deserve you right then.

But as he watched you speed away from the Opera House from his vantage point and met your eyes as you glanced back, that original fire in his soul stoked again.

You were _his_. You'd given yourself to him and promised your mind, body and heart. Why shouldn't he take what was his? Why should he allow this summer romance to continue under his nose?

It was Steve Rogers' fault. All his fault.

The pompous rich arrogant brat.

He was warned to stay away by Mrs Maximoff and hadn't listened, had continue to foist his presence upon you.

“Well then sir,” he mutters out loud. “So it is war between us. This battle I secede to you but my strategy is a little more long term. Enjoy it while it lasts.”


	6. Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Brooklyn Opera House holds a masquerade ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Possessive behaviour, grooming
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> A/N: This may not be the exact order in the play and more the film but I liked how they merged the two Notes pieces and the Phantom roasts everyone in person rather than through a letter so I've gone with that
> 
> Happy reading  
> \- NB xx

“Six months, can you believe it?” I muse to Steve as we walk into the Opera House. “I hardly dared to dream.”

Six months since that day the Phantom brought down the chandelier and not a hide nor hair of him. The first few days going back for the remaining Il Muto shows had been nervewracking but nothing else had happened. I just enjoyed a glowing review of my portrayal of the Countess.

I no longer slept in the dormitories but I stayed in a small townhouse that Steve owned. It must have looked improper but I did not care at this point. It was safer than wondering if I would wake up in the night with that half mask looming over me and salacious intent in those clear blue eyes.

Perhaps he felt too rejected, the Phantom, too humiliated to show himself to me again. Perhaps he was furious with me still....perhaps....perhaps he didn't exist at all like Steve insisted and it was all an elaborate hoax by persons unknown.

I knew better though.

The first time I had made love with Steve I knew I didn't dream it. There was no pain, no maidenhood for him to breach.

Steve had been slow and gentle, thrusting with consideration for my imagined virginal state. It wasn't until that wanton girl resurfaced as I wrapped my legs around him and spurred him on that he finally became unrestrained. I learned when his roving hands started gripping my hips tightly that I had underestimated the extent of his passion for me.

This was not a childhood romance, this was licentious adulthood and he responded to my rising sexuality with a fierceness of his own, frantically tracing the tiny hidden bud until I shattered in his arms and he spent himself within me.

Six months of bliss and a walk in Prospect Park near to the tree we always used to sit under. There, my Stevie proposed to me and I said yes immediately, touched he would pick this spot that meant so much to me.

Now we were attending a masquerade ball hosted by Tony and Bruce and I half suspected it was to mock the Phantom's disappearance. Initially I was reticent to go but as the new leading soprano, I had to make my appearances.

The dress I was in almost seemed another costume to me, a gown of deep blue that blushed to pale pink with stars across it like a night chasing daytime. I hung my engagement ring on a chain around my neck for safekeeping before I left with Steve.

“Ahhh, our glorious little soprano!” Tony bows to me whilst wearing a mask of yellow and red. “Welcome! Mr Rogers? I trust you are well?”

“Very well thank you, Mr Stark,” Steve bows to him in turn.

Bruce is in a mask of green, staring at Natasha longingly as she has some elaborate spider costume that glitters with blacks and reds. She is much more interested in Clint, laughing as he almost trips over his purple garb.

“Enjoy the evening, I trust it will be wonderful!” Tony holds up his champagne glass. “What a pity that our Phantom can't be here, eh?”

“Let us dance,” Steve takes my hand.

We whirled in amongst the other dancers and blurs of rouge, of blue, of puce, of chartreuse flashed by. It was a swirl of bright colours as I looked into Steve's eyes that radiated love and warmth.

“I know we said we would keep this a secret but I just can't resist any more,” Steve murmurs against me.

He bends his head down to kiss me before there's a great thudding sound like heavy footsteps which cuts across the revelry. Everyone turns to the grand staircase in complete silence and my stomach drops.

It's him.

My angel, my phantom.

In a red costume with the top half of his face hidden by a skull mask, I recognised him at once, though nobody else knew him on sight.

“Why so silent, good sirs?” he prowls down the stairs. “Did you think that I had left you for good?”

“Who are you?!” Bruce tries to block his path but shrinks back at the Phantom's glare.

“Your Opera Ghost, did you miss me, my dear managers? I have written you an opera. I've brought you the finished score, Don Juan Triumphant. I urge you to perform my masterpiece because let's say...there are worse things than a shattered chandelier if you do not comply.”

He holds up a leather sheath containing music and throws this at Tony who manages to catch it before it spills everywhere. Stalking across the centre landing, his mouth curls into a smile upon seeing the crowd and he bows gallantly.

“Fondest greetings to you all, I shall impart some instructions before rehearsals begin.”

He moves to Natasha who pales visibly, “Natasha must be taught to act, not her normal trick of strutting around the stage.”

Then to Clint, “Our Don Juan must lose some weight....eating our success, are we? A man should take more pride in his appearance, Mr Barton. A pot belly will not look enticing in the costume I have planned.”

And finally he turns to Tony and Bruce, “And my dear managers, I must say you are not suited to theatre life. Perhaps an office would be a better place for you?”

After mortally offending everyone in the vicinity, my angel of death now comes for me. Steve has slipped off, some plan in mind but I am left alone at this phantom's mercy.

“As for our star, my little doll. No doubt she'll do her best, it's true. Her voice is good but should she wish to excel, she still has much to learn....if that is, her pride will let her return to me, her teacher. What say you?”

He's so close now, towering over me and I remember why I found him so arresting to begin with. The easy air of confidence and superiority.

Then his eyes narrow as he spies the ring around my neck and he grabs for it, wrenching it apart. He holds in front of my face, shaking it in disgust.

“Your chains are still mine, you belong to _me_!” he yells in fury.

Before he takes hold of me, Steve ambushes him from the side but the Phantom is ready, ducking so Steve sprawls over his back. In a swift motion, there's blinding light and smoke and when it clears, my angel is gone.

**

Steve couldn't believe his eyes.

He was real. Your phantom was real but there must be something behind the mystery. He didn't believe in ghosts.

He felt the solidness of the Phantom's back when he went crashing over it. That had to be a man, surely?

What if your angel of music was no more than a man who was manipulating you? Who knew exactly what to say to get you to believe him?

He spied Mrs Maximoff looking undisturbed and his suspicions arose again.

“Wait with Wanda. Do _not_ go anywhere,” he says to you before chasing after the ballet mistress. “Mrs Maximoff!”

“Please Mr Rogers,” she starts scurrying away. “I don't know anything.”

“That's a lie!” Steve catches her, pulling her into a side room. “Don't lie to me when her life is at stake!”

She heaves a heavy sigh, “Very well, sir. I know this Phantom and he is just a man. I saw him at a travelling circus some years ago when I took my girls to visit. He was in a cage, a cage because of his deformity.”

“Deformity?”

“His left arm. It never grew. His face was grotesque at first but....they had used stage makeup to make him appear more terrifying, to bring in more business. The Devil's Child, they called him. He aged believing he was a monster because of it. He escaped and I gave him refuge in the Opera House. Since then, he has only proven himself to be a misunderstood genius. He's an artist, a composer, an engineer, a magician, an architect-”

“-but clearly, Mrs Maximoff, genius has turned to madness.”

She visibly stammers, blinking wildly, “I have said too much. He will come for me, my daughter if I linger. I'm sorry, Mr Rogers but I must go.”

Before Steve can say another word, she ducks under his arm and flees down the corridor.

So he was right. This Phantom is just a man, a twisted murderous man. A man he could deal with.

“So it shall be war between us,” he murmurs. “I shall ensnare you in a trap of your own making. You will not have her. You will not.”


	7. Wandering Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rehearsals begin for the Phantom's Opera and he has more than a few notes to say on the progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Manipulation, angst, violence
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> \- NB xx

More notes appeared during the rehearsals of Don Juan Triumphant.

The Phantom was pedantic to the point of exasperation. He didn't like the first bassoon player, he didn't like the third trombone player, he didn't like some of the chorus singers.

“This is ridiculous!” Tony tears apart the letters in frustration. “Lunacy!”

“Tony, we can't afford another chandelier,” Bruce is slumped in a nearby chair. “It'll ruin us.”

“Nobody will want to see this play. I tell you, nobody,” Tony paces, almost wearing a groove into the stage. “It's too debauched, even for my tastes.”

“You want another Joseph Buquet?” Bruce holds up his hands. “I sure don't.”

“No, you're right,” Tony sighs. “He's just more demanding than you-know-who.”

“Romanoff?”

“Shhh, she might be around,” he hisses. “She's driving me mad about her role.”

“Managers!” Natasha's voice breaks their hushed whisperings and they both jump back in alarm. “I've been thinking that perhaps I can change to a bigger part.”

“Miss Romanoff, you know we can't do that,” Bruce pleads.

“I barely have any lines!” she stamps her foot. “This is an insult! I am Natasha Romanoff!”

“Frankly, it's an outrage,” Clint joins in behind her but it appears that he is trying to hide his own laughter.

“An outrage!” Natasha agrees before she spots me near the conductor and the piano. “And there is the precious little flower. You don't have the range for a part this big! I bet you're in league with the Phantom to cheat me out of another leading role! _You're_ behind this!”

“How dare you!” I stand, shaking in anger.

“You think I'm blind? I see all!” Natasha is turning red in the face.

“You evil woman!” I spit. “You think I want any part in this? If I thought the Phantom would allow it, _you_ could have the damned role.”

“Aha! So you're backing out! Glad that you know your place.”

“ENOUGH!” Steve has been scribbling notes whilst sat on the stage. “The answer to our problem is staring us in the face.”

“It is?” Tony looks marginally more interested.

“If my little dove sings, the only certainty is that the Phantom will attend,” Steve stands up, coming next to me. “So we shall play his game, we shall perform his play but it shall be a trap of his own design.”

“Yes!” Tony cheers. “We will make certain the doors are barred, that the police are here.”

“And armed,” Steve adds.

“And then his reign of terror will end?” even Bruce looks more spirited.

“You cannot do this, he will anticipate it,” Mrs Maximoff interrupts.

“Stop living in fear! This is what he wants!” Steve frowns.

“No, this is what your little chorus girl wants!” Natasha is still not giving up on her indignation.

The conversation devolves into animated shouting and arguing with my name being thrown around. It was like I had no say in my own destiny. Either I was reviled for the Phantom's attentions or else I was to be used as bait.

The noise was deafening and finally I couldn't take it any more.

“STOP IT!” I scream, the sound echoing around the stage and everyone falls silent. “Steve I can't do this. Please don't make me. You don't understand what he's like. He'll take me and you'll never see me again.”

“He's just a man,” Steve takes my hands, rubbing his thumbs along my palms. “If we don't do this, he'll haunt us forever. You said yourself he won't give up.”

“Am I to risk my life then? To become bait to the man who once inspired my voice? I know I can't refuse what you ask of me but I wish I could. I wish I could, Steve. I'm frightened.”

“Please don't think that I don't care,” Steve's grip gets tighter. “You are the _only_ thing I care about but you are also the only one who can do this. All our hopes and all our prayers are on you now.”

“This is too much for me to handle. I'm sorry,” I slip from his grasp and run, I run out of the Opera House, taking the next carriage I can find. “To the graveyard if you please.”

I needed to get away. The only place I could seek comfort any more was at father's grave. At least there I would have a few moments to gather my nerve.

The dread that was growing in the pit of my stomach made me ill at the thought of what the Phantom could do during the play, at how much could go wrong. What if he took me and I was to live in his shadowed world forever?

But then....Steve had told me what Mrs Maximoff had said, about my former angel's traumatic beginnings and the duality within me only grew. I felt pity, immense pity for him having to hide away from the world, a man who was so talented but believed himself so hideous, all because of the parental figures in his life. I also couldn't deny that the attraction was still there, even though I knew I loved Steve desperately.

The shame of it was killing me inside. What kind of fiancée was I?

I didn't even realise I had left the carriage and was strolling through the graveyard until I nearly tripped over a faded tombstone. I felt like I was slowly beginning to lose my grasp on rationality.

I make my way through the rows of judgemental angels, Madonnas and elaborate crosses, heading to the mausoleum reserved for our family. It was a cold thing, an unfeeling house of marble that didn't suit my father's warm and gentle personality in life. My heart still ached that he was gone from me.

I wished he was still with me. He would've told me exactly what to do, taken care of me like he always did with a kind smile and a wise word.

“Such a wandering child, so lost and so helpless,” comes the voice that has plagued my life for months but I cannot see where it originates.

“Who is there? Angel? Father? Friend or Phantom?” I demand, looking around myself.

I see the glow of flame, chasing away the tepid blue and white of the mausoleum to become cosy and inviting in its orange gleam. Was my father speaking to me now? I didn't know what to believe any more.

“You should not forget your angel of music, my child. Too long you've wandered in winter and far from his guidance. You denied him, the protector I sent for you.”

“Father,” I drop to my knees in front of the mausoleum doors which open of their own accord. “Forgive me, please. I did not mean to reject your angel. I turned from my path.”

“All will be forgiven. Your angel is here. Come to your angel of music.”

The lights within flare even brighter. I'm vaguely aware of shouting behind me but I'm transfixed, moving towards the entrance.

“Come to your angel of music. Come to your angel of music.”

“STOP THIS AT ONCE! LET HER GO!” the voice behind me snarls in a rage and hands are on me, shaking me violently until I look up into Steve's face and recognition dawns. “Little dove! Don't believe him! That thing is not your father!”

“Steve?”

“STOP THIS NOW!” Steve yells at the mausoleum and the figure of my angel appears on the roof, looking down at us, his cape billowing in the wind.

“Bravo, good sir,” my angel smirks. “Such spirited words. Come this way and test your mettle if you believe you are worthy of her.”

“Gladly!” Steve draws a revolver but before he can aim, a ball of fire explodes next to him making him leap back. “Tricks, is it? Coward!”

“Keep walking this way, sir and I shall you show you who is the coward,” the angel laughs.

“You cannot make her love you by trying to kidnap her!”

“Is that so? I do not think she is as much yours as you pretend she is and that frightens you, good sir. Deep down you know she will come to me in the end, I who have taken her flower of womanhood, I who have bonded with her more than you can know.”

“ANIMAL!” Steve spits in fury, trying to get to the mausoleum steps but another fireball singes his suit and he howls in pain.

“Come along, sir. Come meet your angel of death.”

Just as Steve reaches the door, the entire entranceway bursts into flames and causes Steve to let go of his revolver in shock. Quickly, the angel drops from the roof, hitting Steve so hard with the hilt of a rapier that for a moment I think he has murdered him.

“STOP! PLEASE!” I beg, running to Steve and throwing myself in front of him to stop the killing blow.

“Then come with me,” my angel holds out his hand. “Come and make my song take wing again. I have missed you terribly, my little doll.”

The pain in his eyes, I was momentarily lost in it but when Steve shoved me aside and threw soil in my angel's eyes I came to my senses again. I grabbed Steve, pulling him away from the fight.

“Let's run! Don't look back!”

We fled out of the graveyard and not until I got into the carriage did the enormity of what had happened fully dawn. Steve was bleeding from the head and I tore my own dress to staunch the flow.

“How did you know I was here?” I whisper.

“You always used to talk to your father first when you were anxious,” he winces as I apply pressure. “Was....was what he said true? About your maidenhood?”

“Yes.”

I would never lie to Steve. I hadn't done it before and I would not do it now. I expected him to be angry with me, maybe even disgusted but I did not expect to be pulled into his arms and hugged tightly.

“I swear I will end that monster. He has ruined your life enough.”

He held me all the way back to the Opera House.

**

James nearly had you. You were so close to being his again. He could see in your eyes that you weren't completely invested in Steve, that he still had some power over you.

If only the irritating whelp didn't turn up at the moment. Steve had poisoned your mind so much that you were willing to die rather than see him hurt.

His rational consciousness wanted to say there was still a chance you could turn back to him but the irrational part was spreading fast, the anger at Steve's intrusion, the audacity of you to reject his hand to escape with your suitor. He was humiliated.

“If it is to be war upon you both, then so be it. This has gone far enough. You will not run from me a third time, little doll.”


	8. The Point of No Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don Juan Triumphant has its first opening night, but not before you seek answers from your angel of music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, mentions of child abuse/neglect, possessive behaviour, manipulation
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> \- NB xx

I have no idea what possessed me to go back to the small chapel the night before Don Juan Triumphant opened to the public.

Steve's injuries had mostly healed and I had left him in the townhouse on the pretext of a last minute rehearsal. It was true but afterwards, I did not immediately return.

“Angel? Angel, are you here?” I ask to the flickering shadows on the walls, the candlelight my only guidance right now.

I expected him not to answer. I expected cold rejection and it is what I deserved. My head was a swirl of tangled thoughts, knotting tighter into an unsalvageable mess and I needed to speak to him, just for moment to try and pull myself free.

I needed answers.

“Why are you here, little doll?” his voice is surprisingly warm as it comes through the floor. “You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow. You need your rest.”

“I wish to speak to you in person.”

“That is brave of you considering your actions in the graveyard.”

“You will not hurt me, I know it. Please, I just want to talk.”

There's no answer for a time and then, all at once, the candles extinguish leaving me in darkness. I hear movement behind me and the locking of a door.

“I'm here,” he says, only a few feet away. “Now speak.”

“Who are you? Really?” I turn to where I think he is. “They say you are a man, a runaway from a circus. Is this true? Please be honest, I cannot take the lies any more.”

He takes a sharp inhale, “It is true. I was that disfigured monster in the cage. I never knew who my father was. My mother...when I was born, she despised me. She was part of the circus, a Roma woman and I was responsibility she didn't want. She called me hideous and smeared a substance on me that was meant to help with my condition on my face but I think it only enhanced my ugliness. She abandoned me when I was eight and I stayed in that cage for ten years.”

I can hear the edge of pain in his voice and I daren't interrupt.

“Ten years of being laughed at, having rocks and rotten fruit thrown at me, of having girls look at me with such revulsion, of being beaten by the ringmaster daily. When Magda....Mrs Maximoff brought her ballet girls to come see, she was horrified. She stole the key from the ringmaster after hours and left it for me secretly. He caught her though. He was going to kill her, started strangling her and I escaped the cage and killed him instead. I've stayed in the Opera House ever since. This face is too cursed to be amongst the high of society, no matter how learned I am, no matter how skilled I am...I will always be a cripple and a monster.”

“You are not hideous,” I cannot hide my silence any longer. “I have told you before. That was not said in pity. You are beautiful and I wish you could see what I could.”

“Then why don't you love me as I love you?” his voice is strained, choked. “Why do you leave me for Steve Rogers?”

“I have loved Steve for years. It's not a simple thing. I care for you, ang-....I guess not angel any longer.”

“James,” he says quietly. “James is my name but it was given by my mother. The circus folk, those that were kind, used to call me Bucky.”

“Bucky,” I repeat. “Hello Bucky.”

“Hello,” he says back. “I never meant to frighten you, I never meant to harm you. I love you and it tears me apart to see you with another man. Don't marry him. He will dampen everything that is beautiful about you, squash the music in your soul until it lies in tatters. You will be a housewife and a mother and nothing else. A pretty ornament in an cold house.”

“And it would be different with you?”

“I would not ask you to have children with me if you did not want. I understand this is not an affliction to be passed on. I would not have you sit in my world and do nothing. I would write for you, every day. We would sing together, I would make more operas. All of Brooklyn could share in our stories.”

I can sense he's right in front of me. I can feel his breath warm against my face, hitched in his effort not to breakdown in front of me.

“Bucky-”

“-it makes me so happy for you to say my name,” he laughs softly. “Think on it tonight. Make your decision tomorrow. The opera needs to be a success and it is late. Steve will wonder where you are.”

“Yes, he will.”

“Thank you...for talking with me.”

I feel the press of lips against my forehead and then he moves away. The door clicks and light floods into the room as it opens.

I'm left feeling a twisting sense of guilt now where before only anxiousness was. Speaking with Bucky had given me some answers but I felt remorse over this plan that might result in his death tomorrow. He had lived a tortured life, known nothing but cruelty. It was no wonder his morality was skewed.

Was I so sure I was doing the right thing?

**

I was in the wings of the stage, waiting for my part as Clint postured his role as Don Juan. From here I could see Steve sitting in Box Five and Tony and Clint behind him. I also spotted the non-uniformed police officers dotted through the crowd.

I wanted to be sick right now but instead, I strode onstage and sang my song of innocence and young notions of romance. I was awaiting Clint coming back but my back stiffened as I heard, not his voice but Bucky's instead singing to me.

“ _Go away for the trap is set and it waits for its prey.”_

What had happened to Clint?

I looked to my right to see Bucky in the Don Juan outfit and briefly thought that he seemed born for the stage. He prowled across it like it was his, arrested the audience's gaze and his voice....his voice was haunting and I was scared for a moment to sully his melody with my harmonies.

“- _Now I am here with you, no second thoughts, I've decided, decided. Past the point of no return, no going back now, our passion play has now at last begun._ ”

It was a song of innocence lost, sexual tension, the first bloomings of womanhood and desire and I moved up to the spiral stairs to the bridge at the top, in a daze. The world around me faded away until there was only Bucky and I. We both reached the top, walking to meet each other in the middle, singing only for us.

“ _-Past the point of return, the final threshold, the bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn, we've passed the point of no return.”_

He takes my arms, twirling me so I'm caged with my back to his chest, completely in his embrace as his mouth ghosts along my neck. There was no one else in that moment. The music had taken over, _he_ had taken over. All I felt was excitement and pure desire.

“Anywhere you go, let me go too. Just love me, that's all I ask of you,” he says against my ear.

My trance breaks. Those are the words Steve spoke to me on the rooftop all those months ago. I looked to Steve in Box Five and he was tearful, obviously hurt by the performance that was a little too much on the side of realistic but unable to intervene yet.

I turned around, looking into the adoring face of Bucky before doing the worst thing I could. I tore off his mask, throwing it off the bridge. He looked horrified for a moment before I moved to let the audience see him.

“Take a bow, Bucky,” I urged him. “You're beautiful.”

I do one myself and there's applause from the audience. When Bucky eventually stiffly bows, he gets rapturous applause also.

“I'm..I'm truly not grotesque?” he looks at me with childish wonderment. “I'm really not?”

“No, you're not.”

I was getting through to him, perhaps this would work out better than I had imagined. I believed that up until the moment that a policeman's gun went off by accident and hit Bucky in his prosthetic arm.

“NO!” Bucky screams. “NO THIS SHALL NOT END THIS WAY!”

The lever in front of us that I had imagined was for some stage prop was kicked and all the gas lamps above the stage shattered, raining fire down onto the curtains, the stage and the front row of the audience. In the result chaos of the theatre becoming ablaze, the lever behind us was pulled and I felt the ground beneath me give way as Bucky held me tightly and we fell, we fell through the fire down and down into the deep lairs of the Opera House until soft mattressing broke our fall.

“Why did you do that?!” I demanded, extracting myself.

“You tricked me! You deceived me!” he snarls. “You didn't care for me, you just wanted to kill me!”

“That's not true!”

He grabs my wrist, dragging me down the winding stairs to his domain, at first just content with physically hauling me behind him until my protestations grew tiresome and he flung me over his shoulder as he descended.

“Hounded out by everyone, met with hatred everywhere, no kind word from anyone, no compassion....just a cold bullet. Why, little doll? Why would you hate me this much?”

“I don't hate you! I'm trying to save you!” I kick at his body until he drops me into the boat. “You're not a monster!”

“Oh I very much am,” he starts rowing.

“Did you murder Clint?” I ask quietly when the silence becomes too much.

He studies me for a while, “No, no I didn't. I know it frightens you. He's tied up in the dressing room backstage.”

“Then you _can_ change,” I plead. “Don't do this. They'll come for you, they'll seek revenge. You just burned down the Opera House!”

“And we shall be long gone by then.”

When we reach his home, he slings me out of the boat, taking me to the mannequin of myself with the wedding dress.

“Put it on.”

“Why must I?”

“Because when the time comes, a choice will be made and it will be appropriate. Now, I will not repeat myself again.”

He watches shamelessly as I take off my costume, even helping me with tender fingers to lace into the wedding dress as he brushes out my hair and places the veil on me.

“Men have started wars for much less,” he appraises me. “You are perfection itself.”

“Bucky, stop this now before it's too late.”

He doesn't answer, instead just kissing me roughly, “The curtain hasn't fallen yet. But wait....I think my dear, we have a guest.”

I hear splashing growing louder and louder and see Steve, completely soaked through, wading through the water. He looks shaken as he reaches the closed gate.

“Sir, it is unparalleled delight,” Bucky bows. “I did rather hope you would come. You are the guest of honour after all.”

“Let her go! Do what you like with me but let her go! I beg you!”

“He does make a convincing argument,” Bucky laughs.

“I love her, does that mean nothing?! Show some compassion, goddamnit!”

“THE WORLD SHOWED NO COMPASSION TO ME!” Bucky roars, the sound echoing again and again into the gloom. He finally composes himself before starting a series of pulleys which lift the gates up. “Well then sir, I bid you welcome. As you can see, she is unharmed....after all, why would I make her pay for the sins which are yours?”

I'm confused for a moment before a trap snares Steve, rope dragging up his body until it winds around his neck, winching him up so he only has the barest balance on the tips of his toes.

“Such a pompous suitor who abandoned his lover half a world away for wealth,” Bucky goes to Steve who's turning red in the face. “What does that say about you?”

“It says I still love her, even after all this time apart,” Steve rasps viciously, clinging to the rope to stop it cutting into his neck.

“STOP THIS!” I race forward into the water but Bucky catches me in his arms and turns me to look at him, shaking me violently.

“Start a new life with me. Buy his freedom with your love. Refuse me and you send your lover to his grave.”

“Why are you doing this?!” I yell, tears springing to my eyes.

“Because _this_ is the choice!” Bucky looks deranged. “THIS IS THE POINT OF NO RETURN!”


	9. The Steve Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Make your choice - Steve edition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> \- NB xx
> 
> (Sorry it's late!)

I just stare at his demented expression, his heaving chest and the passionate fury blazing in his eyes.

He really would, he really would kill my Stevie if I didn't agree and I felt a swell of revulsion.

“Any sympathy I would've felt for your fate has just grown cold, angel,” I spit but he appears unmoved.

“Little dove, please forgive me,” Steve struggles against his bonds. “I tried so hard to find you and it's all for nothing.”

“There's no time for useless self pity,” Bucky yanks on the rope making it tighten around Steve's throat until he's gurgling.

“If you say you love me then he'll kill me,” Steve grimaces, his feet nearly away from the bottom of the lake. “Either way you choose, he'll win.”

“That is how it was engineered, good sir,” Bucky grins. “So, my doll, do you spend your day with me or do you send him to his grave?”

“Why make her live a lie just to save me? It won't be true, she won't love you!”

“Angel of Music, you deceived me,” I stare in horror, unable to do anything, knowing Bucky is a lot stronger than I am. “I gave so much to you blindly without knowing what you really are.”

“You try my patience, girl,” Bucky stares coldly at me. “Make your choice.”

I knew what my answer had to be. Anything to save Steve, even if it meant a lifetime of darkness. That would be my fate. The Phantom's bride forever more.

“Oh Bucky,” I sigh softly and the change in tone makes his harsh expression drop. “What kind of live have you known here? Let me show you. Let me show you you're not alone.”

I walk forward and he watches me warily, almost afraid until I reach up and pull him to me, kissing him with everything I have, every ounce of passion, recalling that first time I spent in this lair when I was still naïve. He clings to me desperately, accepting me with the trembling demeanour of a child until I realise he's crying, sobbing even.

“What's wrong?” I ask, just as I start hearing angry voices in the distance. “Isn't this what you wanted?”

He looks at me through tear filled eyes before glancing at Steve who was turning slightly purple in the face and cutting the knot with a dagger he had concealed in his clothing. Steve drops into the water heavily and surfaces spluttering.

“Take him,” Bucky's voice is hitched, not daring to look at me. “Take him, forget me, forget all of this.”

“I don't understand,” I stay stock still, wondering what was going on.

“He's right. I cannot make you love me and it is cruel to try. This was cruel. I'm sorry. Go. Go now, take the boat and swear never to tell, the secrets of you know of this angel in hell.”

I don't move still, hardly daring to believe he would let us go, that he would let Steve and I be happy.

“GO NOW!” he shouts, pushing me towards Steve who catches me and starts pulling me towards the boat. “GO NOW AND LEAVE ME HERE!”

I'm just about to get into the boat when parts of the ceiling begin collapsing in, the fire having reached the lower levels, scourging the Opera House to the foundations. Bucky disappears behind a cloud of debris and my heart lurches.

Even though I do not love him like I do Steve, I don't wish to see him die here.

“What are you doing?!” Steve calls as I wade away from the boat. “Little dove! You'll die if we don't go now!”

“I have to see if he's alright!” I call back.

Bucky's on the bed when I find him, playing with a music box that has a monkey with cymbals on the top. He looks up in confusion at my presence.

“Why?” he asks.

“Promise me one thing, Bucky. You'll leave this place. Start somewhere new and remember that you are not hideous. You can have that normal life you always wanted,” I hold out the engagement ring he had taken from me at the masquerade ball which was back on my finger. “And give this to a girl who loves you beyond compare.”

“But that will not be you,” another tear slides down his face.

“No, it won't.”

“I love you.”

“I know you do, so let me go in your heart.”

“I shall never forget you, little doll,” he hides his face in his hands. “You alone can make my song take flight.”

“Goodbye, Bucky,” I leave to go back to the boat and I feel a solid shove in my back as I sprawl into the water, just as a piece of the ceiling crashes down where I was walking.

“GO!” Bucky urges me.

Steve pulls me onto the boat and we sail away, watching the Phantom's lair grow smaller and smaller until we come out into a small tunnel that leads us away from the Opera House. We watched it from the nearby park as the fire raged into the night and the place I had called home for so long was no more.

“For a moment, I thought you wouldn't choose me,” Steve says quietly.

“Love is not rage, it's not cruelty and it's not possession. He was only in love with the idea of me,” I turn to him. “You love the person I am.”

“Always,” he kisses the back of my hand. “Let us get away from this place, far away. Let us start a new life, little dove.”

His kiss is so different, so full of calmness and safety and I revel in it. Steve Rogers had always been my life and he would always continue to be.

The Phantom was a strange footnote now, a post script to a love that endured time and distance.

**

Years went by with Steve.

We moved to London where he'd grown up without me and he showed me the wonders of that city. Wanda visited us in the spring, along with Viz, the stagehand who she'd married after the Opera House fire when he'd saved her from being trapped in the dressing room. It was good to see a friend.

Steve and I married not long afterwards and we had two children, a boy and a girl. It was a good marriage, a happy marriage filled with laughter and love. We grew old together, surrounded by grandchildren until a terrible pneumonia took Steve from me on the eve of his seventieth birthday.

After the funeral, I received a letter with no sender address but the seal made me stop in my tracks. It was a seal with a skull on it.

The Phantom's seal.

_'Commiserations on your loss. I hope you lived a good life together. I'm always nearby should you wish to talk._

_Your Bucky, forever and always.'_

The letter dropped from my hands as I sat on the bed and I stared out of my window to see the tail end of a cloak disappearing from view.

So he had never truly left me.

I dwelled on my life with Steve, wondering if Bucky had been close by the entire time when I suddenly realised that Bucky had been right.

I _had_ become a housewife and a mother and I had not sung since my days at the Opera House. My song belonged only to the music of the night and that had died in the fire.

I opened the windows, sitting on the ledge and sang for the first time in decades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect the Bucky ending sometime soon


	10. The Bucky Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You make your choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence, mentions of injury, angst
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> Thank you for being on this journey with me guys, hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> \- NB xx

I look to my Angel of Music and all I should see is his crazed expression but I know now, I know the tortured man underneath. Our talk in the chapel before Don Juan, I knew this was acting out of desperation, an unfortunate by-product of the policeman's actions.

Would he have done this had the shot not rang out in the Opera House? I doubted he would. I could've talked him down, I could've saved us all from this torment.

“Forgive me,” Steve looks at me plaintively. “For pity's sake don't throw your life away for mine. This is not what I want for you.”

“Bucky, please let him go,” I beg.

“It's too late to turn back,” comes the broken reply as he avoids my gaze. “Make your choice.”

“Pitiful creature of darkness,” I step towards him, hand outstretched for his face where he flinches until my fingers make contact. He moves into the warmth of them, his eyes fluttering shut. “Let me show you the wonders of the light.”

When I kiss him, I'm fully aware of the noise of despair Steve makes but I need to make Bucky see, he needs to see that he is loveable, that he's worthy of affection without having to resort to drastic measures to get it. His mother's unbelievable cruelty had left its mark but I wanted to erase that.

“I'll stay with you,” I tell him.

“No, no!” Steve struggles against the rope. “Don't do this, you might as well kill me because if I have to leave you here with him, I'm already dead inside.”

“You have the world at your feet, good sir,” Bucky looks at him with tears in his eyes. “Any woman would love to call you husband. Leave me with the one woman who can stand the sight of me. That's all I ask of you.”

“I love her!” Steve roars.

“As do I.”

“Your love is manipulation and pain!”

“For now. I am a better man than I once was and I will continue to improve myself with her by my side,” Bucky hacks at the rope and Steve's noose goes slack. “Leave us, good sir. She has made the choice.”

“A choice you engineered to always win!” Steve lunges at Bucky.

“No please! Stop fighting!” I try to get in between them but Steve pushes me back into the water.

I'm swallowed by the wedding dress, almost unable to get out until I finally surface, spluttering to see Steve punching Bucky hard and Bucky doing nothing to defend himself.

“FIGHT BACK, YOU COWARD!” Steve yells.

“No, good sir. There has been enough fighting,” Bucky says through bloodied teeth, holding Steve's shoulders like he was embracing him. “I will not any longer. I apologise for my actions but I wish to change. I have had enough of these lakes, enough of the darkness, I've had enough of feeling worthless to society. No more. I am Phantom no more. Do what you will. Kill me if you must but I am tired of this half existence.”

Steve draws his sword and puts it under Bucky's chin, his eyes ablaze.

“No, Steve,” I whisper, my heart racing. “There's been enough bloodshed on my account.”

The way Steve looks at me, like his soul is breaking in two is devastating, “You care for him. You care for him as much as you care for me.”

“Yes.”

“He is a despicable murderer!” Steve snarls, pressing the point of the blade further until the skin splits a little and a rivulet of blood trickles down Bucky's throat.

I run at him, pushing the sword out of the way and standing in front of my angel. Enough was enough.

“And if you kill him, a defenceless man, what does that make you, Steve Rogers?”

“Out of the way, little dove!”

“No!”

Steve feints to the side of me and swings, intent on ending Bucky's life where I try to get in the way again but Steve's arc is heading straight for my face. Bucky pulls me out of harm's way before catching Steve in the side where he sprawls into the candelabra, head first into the flames and hot wax. There's an awful shrieking where we both manage to pull him free and douse his face in the water, trying to rinse it clear but the damage was done.

When Steve stood up, the right side of his cheek was horribly burned.

“Monster!” Steve roars, hitting me away so I don't interfere before he tries to leap on Bucky again but the ceiling starts caving in, rubble dividing the two.

I can hear the scream of rage, of frustration as Bucky helps me up and begins running with me to the boat. Already we're punting through the underground lake as I'm trying to put the pieces together of Steve's actions.

I had never seen him lose control before, I never thought he'd be angry enough to kill an unarmed man. It appeared he had lowered himself to the Phantom's level and perhaps if he had risen above it a different solution might have happened but my choice had been made and I watched the tunnel close behind us, stonework and timber blocking the way back and ahead there was only Bucky.

“I didn't want it to end this way,” Bucky says quietly as we reach the exit. “I did not want him to die, not truly, not in my heart of hearts.”

“I know you didn't,” I take his outstretched hand to alight onto the bank. “You would never have killed him.”

“You know me more than I know myself,” he gives a faint smile before we watch the Opera House burning. “I'm sorry for everything.”

“I do not blame you for it. It was always a masquerade in that place, Natasha, Clint, the managers, Mrs Maximoff.....Steve....only Wanda was ever plain with me.”

“Come,” he tugs at my arm. “We should away. I am a wanted man.”

“Where will we go?”

“Somewhere where we can start again, afresh. Somewhere where we can continue to make music. I should see you take centre stage in the Royal Opera House in London if I could. Yes...yes that's what I'll do. Perhaps even this would make a compelling opera story.”

We left the ruin of my life behind, wondering precisely who had survived but knowing we could never check. Better everyone thought we were dead or missing than to reveal the Phantom was by my side.

**

“I can't hear you! From the diaphragm!” Bucky calls from the back of the Royal Opera House.

A full year since that terrible day and I was on the stage again, ready to play the lead in Bucky's new opera. He was no less demanding as a tutor but he made my singing better and I could not refute his wisdoms.

“I need a moment!” I call back, a little dizzy before I take a step back and my legs give way.

Immediately Bucky vaults the balcony and hits the aisles hard in his haste to get to me. I'm sprawled on the floor when he draws level.

“My doll, are you alright?” he drops to his knees. “Am I overworking you?”

“I'm fine I just...I might have pushed too hard.”

“Is she alright?” the conductor asks.

“She will be. Take a break,” Bucky tells him before turning to you. “Tell me, when was the last time you bled?”

“And why should that be relevant?” I ask before truly thinking about it. “I...I can't remember. Am I....am I with child, Bucky?”

“I believe you might be,” his smile is radiant. “I think the understudy shall have to take your next year's tour.”

I kiss my husband, hearing the 'aww's of the chorus girls behind me. Our relationship was the subject of many admiring glances and beaming grins. We both loved each other intensely and it was obvious for anyone to see.

Bucky was a different person to our days in the Brooklyn Opera House. He had finally accepted his own beauty, though there were days he still doubted himself but he was less possessive, less quick to fits of temper. Perhaps a child would mellow his temperament even further.

“Are you happy, my love?” I look into his shining eyes.

“You have no idea the happiness I feel,” he laughs before helping me to my feet. “Get yourself some water. Rehearsals can wait.”

He gives me a lingering kiss that I can feel the joy through before I walk to the backstage dressing rooms. As I eat some bread and drink some honeyed tea, I hear a chuckle behind me.

I whirl around to see that mask that I'd known for so long but on a different face.

_Steve's_ face.

“Still beautiful,” Steve is leaning against the door. “I should congratulate you. A marriage and a child on the way, not to mention the leading soprano in a new play. Hmm, the Phantom of the Opera. Very derivative. Amusing that it should end with my character being victorious. If only the cast knew, knew that you abandoned me in the fire.”

I make to move to the door but he blocks my path.

“You want a true phantom, you shall _have_ a true phantom. I've not been idle this past year, little dove. I have learned what skills he had. Opening night should be......interesting.”

He seems to glide from the room, disappearing into shadow and I slumped to the ground, wondering if I had traded one horror for another.

Would I ever be free of Phantoms?


End file.
